Chapter 4 – THE TREATMENT NOBODY COULD ACCOUNT FOR

Victor answered without hesitation.

“Evelyn Price.”

Dante frowned.

“The private nurse?”

“She oversees your evening treatment.”

“Evelyn hasn’t worked here in months.”

“She’s retained on a consulting basis.”

Emily looked toward the doctor.

“Is she authorized to administer these medications under your orders?”

Harlan carefully closed the folder on his lap.

“I would need to verify the current orders.”

Victor gave him a warning look.

Dante saw it.

“Then verify them,” he said. “Today.”

Harlan stood.

“I’ll have my office assemble the records.”

“And until then?”

The physician paused.

“I wouldn’t make changes to an established treatment regimen without proper medical supervision.”

Emily agreed with that.

Whatever was happening, suddenly stopping long-term medications could create additional problems.

But continuing unidentified injections was no solution either.

Dante looked toward the pouch.

“Arrange an independent medication review before anything else is administered.”

Harlan nodded.

“That would be reasonable.”

Victor said nothing.

When the doctor left, Dante asked his brother to remain.

Emily started toward the door.

“Stay,” Dante said.

Victor’s expression darkened.

“You’re discussing private family matters in front of an employee.”

“An employee whose six-year-old daughter found unsecured syringes under my wheelchair.”

Victor looked at Emily.

The threat in his eyes was unmistakable.

Dante continued.

“Why were those supplies hidden there?”

“Because the storage compartment was designed for medical equipment.”

“Then why wasn’t I told?”

“You refuse to participate in your treatment half the time.”

Dante looked stunned.

“I refuse when you won’t explain what you’re doing.”

“Exactly.”

Victor seemed to believe he’d made his point.

But Emily saw something different.

A man asking reasonable questions had been described as difficult until the people around him stopped answering.

Dante opened his notebook.

“Show me where I authorized these injections.”

Victor’s expression tightened.

“The consent is in your medical file.”

“Then bring it.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Now.”

Victor stared at his brother.

For a moment, Emily thought he might refuse outright.

Instead, he left.

Dante waited until his footsteps disappeared.

“Emily, I need you to tell me something.”

“What?”

“Am I imagining that people are deliberately keeping me confused?”

She looked at the worn notebook.

The contradictory appointments.

The unidentified syringes.

The rehabilitation form.

“No,” she said.

His shoulders dropped.

Not with relief.

With something closer to grief.

That afternoon, Emily helped the household manager, Rosa Delgado, inventory the locked linen and supply cabinets.

Rosa was a practical woman in her sixties who had worked for the Moretti family since Dante was a teenager.

She knew which doors stuck in winter and which guests needed their coffee served without being asked.

When Emily mentioned Evelyn Price, Rosa stopped folding towels.

“Evelyn hasn’t been here since spring.”

“Are you certain?”

“I gave her the farewell flowers.”

“Victor said she was still consulting.”

Rosa pressed her lips together.

“Perhaps by telephone.”

“Did she administer Mr. Moretti’s treatments?”

“Before she left, yes.”

“Who took over?”

Rosa looked uncomfortable.

“Mr. Victor said he’d arranged private coverage.”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“Not regularly.”

Emily folded another towel.

She could sense Rosa deciding whether to say more.

Finally, the older woman lowered her voice.

“There were nights when Mr. Dante called for help and nobody came except his brother.”

“What kind of help?”

“Pain. Weakness. Sometimes he couldn’t remember what he’d said an hour earlier.”

Emily stopped.

“When did that happen?”

Rosa thought for a moment.

“Usually after his treatments.”

“Did anyone report it?”

“Mr. Victor said those episodes were expected.”

Rosa looked toward the hallway.

“I asked once whether another doctor should see him.”

“What happened?”

“I was told I could retire if the work had become too upsetting.”

Emily knew that particular kind of warning.

It didn’t require shouting.

It only required reminding someone how much they stood to lose.

That evening, she returned to the library.

Dante was examining an old brass pocket watch.

It had belonged to his father.

Unlike the gold watch he wore, this one had stopped years earlier.

“Rosa says Evelyn hasn’t worked here since spring,” Emily told him.

Dante looked up.

“I know.”

“Victor says she’s still involved in your care.”

He sighed.

“Victor says a lot of things.”

Emily hesitated.

“May I ask about the nights after treatment?”

His expression changed.

“What about them?”

“Do you feel different?”

“Sometimes.”

“How?”

He looked down at the watch.

“Like somebody has poured concrete into my arms and legs. I can think, but everything takes too much effort.”

“Does it affect your memory?”

“Yes.”

The admission clearly embarrassed him.

“Sometimes Victor tells me we’ve had conversations I don’t remember.”

Emily sat opposite him.

“Has that always happened?”

“No.”

“When did it begin?”

He considered.

“After the hospital setback. It became worse over time.”

She wanted to ask about his treatment schedule.

Instead, she looked at the old watch.

“Does that still work?”

“No.”

“Why keep it?”

“My father gave it to me when I took over the business.”

He turned it over.

The initials D.M. were engraved on the back.

“Victor got the management position. I got the watch.”

“Did that bother him?”

Dante smiled without humor.

“My brother has spent his entire life believing I received things he deserved.”

He looked toward the empty doorway.

“Sometimes he was right.”

Emily studied him.

“You know that doesn’t mean he gets to make decisions about your body.”

“I know.”

But his voice suggested he was only beginning to believe it.

Later, Victor finally delivered the consent forms.

There were three.

Dante examined them one by one.

The first two concerned ordinary medical treatment.

The third authorized ongoing administration of a specialty injectable medication.

The signature appeared to be his.

But the date was unfamiliar.

Dante checked his notebook.

On that day, he’d written that he was unable to lift his head and had slept most of the afternoon.

Victor claimed they’d discussed the treatment in detail.

Dante remembered nothing.

Emily couldn’t determine whether the signature was genuine.

The important question was whether Dante had understood and voluntarily authorized the specific treatment described.

Then she noticed a separate page.

It listed medications purchased through a company called Northbridge Clinical Services.

The amounts were substantial.

More than a hundred thousand dollars over the previous year.

Dante stared at the figure.

“That’s more than I spend on my rehabilitation equipment.”

Emily looked down the page.

Northbridge wasn’t identified as a pharmacy.

It was listed as a private medical procurement contractor.

And beside the payment authorization was an account number belonging to Moretti Holdings.

Dante frowned.

“Why is my operating company paying for private medical supplies?”

Victor reached for the papers.

“Because it’s part of your executive care arrangement.”

Dante didn’t release them.

“Who owns Northbridge?”

His brother hesitated.

Then Emily saw the name printed at the bottom of the page.

Authorized Director: V. Moretti.

Dante looked up slowly.

“Victor, have I been paying you to keep me sick?”

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